Story

This song was the winner of the first Pennsylvania Heritage Songwriting Competition. In May 1962, a vein of exposed anthracite coal caught fire at the town dump in Centralia, Pennsylvania. I was about 6 months old. I am 48, and that fire is still burning today.

Story

I played this song the very first night I played in public, at the open mic at Daniels in the Bush House, Bellefonte. I thought it was a throwaway at the time, but the host encouraged me to play some more and I was scrambling to think what other songs I knew. I played this and Jeremy Tosten, a fine guitar player and songwriter, stopped playing pool and came over and listened intently. For better or worse, people seem to like the song. The song came from a true story; a girl I was dating back around 1980 moved to New Mexico with her mom... they took the train. I was devastated. Twenty years later, when I finally got a guitar and learned to play some, it turned into happy little ragtime chords. This recording came from a demonstration of home recording during a workshop I took hosted by Stacy Tibbets a number of years ago now... we recorded this in Stacy's dining room, I believe, as separate guitar and vocal tracks. (Had time permitted I would have done a scratch track first, this was just one take on guitar, one take on vocal and a quick mixdown.)

Lyrics

I typically play this capo'd at 3 out of a G position, so sounds in Bb, although now and then i'll move it to 4 and play it in B. The basic progression is "Salty Dog:" G, E7, A7, D7. I used to love when Doug Anderson added some ragtime lead guitar over this on his well-loved Froggy Bottom.

Story

This is just a home practice session, recorded to the little portable Edirol. No editing, no EQ, no tweaking, just live as it happened.

Lyrics

I don’t know how (to watch you walk away)

He said words have always been my friends I knowBut sometimes there are places they can’t goMountains that they cannot climb Comfort they cannot provideWords can fail you when need them so

He said I wanted her when we were still in schoolThat small steel town had forged itself a jewelBut nights that were not mine to keep Years that fell beneath my feetAre etched into the memory of a fool

I don’t know how to watch you walk awayEven though I try more every daySeasons turn and people changeSome dreams just stay out of rangeI don’t know how to watch you walk away

I guess she needed more than I could beLess emotion more stabilityHer children do not know my nameI think about them just the sameFaces that I doubt I’ll never see

I don’t know how to watch you walk awayEven though I try more every daySeasons change and people dieSome dreams just remain aliveI don’t know how to watch you walk away

He said these memories are the ones I choose to keepWhen morning thunder rolls across the deepIn the early morning rain my pillow turns to her againI smell her hair and drift on back to sleep

I don’t know how to watch you walk awayEven though I try more every daySeasons fade and years grow coldSome dreams were not made to holdI don’t know how to watch you walk away

I typically play this song capo'd at 3, out of a G position, so key of Bb. Other than some embellishments with hammer-ons, it's G, C, Am, D, D7

Story

When I was a young boy growing up in Johnstown, I had 4 real heroes: John Kennedy, Bobby Kennedy, Bruno Sammartino, and Pirates uniform #21, Roberto Clemente. Clemente died heading into New Years day 1973, flying an overloaded, not-airworthy plane full of relief supplies to Nicaraguan earthquake victims. His last time at bat, he hit his 3000th hit.

Lyrics

Clemente

(a capella)

The first time that I’m sure I criedWas on the day Clemente diedMoonlit wings fell from the skyInto dark and trembling watersAll that passion, all that prideLost to the Atlantic skiesBut legacies won’t be deniedAnd heroes never fade

Hail Roberto, full of graceSweat and pride mixed on his faceFrom the right field wall Down to third baseWith an arm just like a cannonStats alone can’t tell the taleDreamers dream, they lways willGolden gloves and golden sailsAnd heroes never fade